A Cry in the Dark

  A Cry in the Dark

  Carly Moore Book One

  Denise Grover Swank

  Copyright © 2019 by Denise Grover Swank

  Cover: Bookfly Cover Design

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Created with Vellum

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Also by Denise Grover Swank

  About the Author

  Chapter One

  “No, no, no, no, NO!” I shouted, banging the heel of my hand on the steering wheel of my Honda.

  “Dammit!”

  This could not be happening again.

  I popped the hood of my car, got out, and circled around the front. It took me three tries to get the hood propped on its stand, but I wasn’t sure why I was even bothering. I hadn’t learned anything about car engines since my last car had broken down in Southern Arkansas, where, I’d met people who’d helped me, strangers who had become friends. That kind of luck didn’t happen twice.

  Leaning over the engine, I looked over all the hoses—intact—and the radiator—not steaming—which meant I had no idea what was wrong with it.

  I was in a parking lot off Highway 25 at a scenic pull-off overlooking the Smoky Mountains and what I presumed was the Tennessee–North Carolina state border. It was an off-the-beaten-path road, which meant I was basically in the middle of nowhere. I’d crisscrossed the state lines a couple of times since I’d left Gatlinburg, but I was fairly sure I was currently in Tennessee—only fairly sure because I’d lost cell service a couple of hours ago.

  I was in big trouble.

  Pissed, I swiped my hair out of my face and turned to face the view, suddenly overcome with rage. The fact that it was beautiful just made me madder. I’d pulled over to the lookout on a whim less than five minutes ago, wanting to get one last look at the Smokies. I’d spent a few minutes staring at them, soaking in the sight and trying to feel something, only to return to the car and find it wouldn’t start.

  I pulled the burner phone I was using out of my jeans pocket, not surprised to still see the no service symbol in the top left corner. Which meant I couldn’t call a roadside service. Besides, where would I have them tow it? The last town I remembered passing through was in North Carolina, but that had been a good hour or so ago, minus this stop. The tow bill was going to be astronomical.

  What in the hell was I going to do?

  The hum of an approaching car caught my attention, and I wasn’t sure whether to hide or try to flag the driver down. Ideally, I’d check out who was in the car before making the decision. A family with kids was a safe-enough bet. A solitary guy in a beat-up truck—maybe not. The problem was that the lookout was at the edge of a curve in the road, so I wouldn’t have much opportunity to make the call.

  The car breezed by, a small, older hatchback. I couldn’t make out who was inside, but the way they zoomed past and kept on going, it was obvious they weren’t going to stop.

  Which meant I had no choice but to wait for the next car.

  The next vehicle didn’t show up for another twenty minutes. The 18-wheeler was struggling to handle the steep downgrade, its brakes announcing its appearance a good thirty seconds before it drove right on past, but I’d already decided I was okay with that. I’d heard too many stories about over-the-road truckers, although I suspected most had been embellished.

  I briefly considered sitting inside the car. I was still standing outside, my butt leaning against the driver’s door so I could get a good view of the approaching vehicles. The early November mountain air was chilly, probably in the 40s—cold enough the cold metal of the car cut right through my jeans. But I stayed put. I’d take the cold over the stench of smoke ingrained in the interior.

  My plan, inasmuch as I had one, was to head to Wilmington and look for a job. It would be suitably far from the people who were looking for me, plus I’d always liked the ocean. But en route to the coast, the sign for Gatlinburg had grabbed at me. My mother’s grandparents had taken her there when she was a kid and my mom had told me that story so many times that after all these years I still remembered their trip as if I’d been there myself. She’d been dead for over two decades, and they’d been gone for even longer, but I still missed her. Fiercely.

  So I’d taken the exit to Gatlinburg hoping I’d feel closer to her if I did all the things she’d told me about. Hoping it might…inspire me in some way. But it turned out that Dollywood was closed the first week of November, and I didn’t have the right shoes or clothes to hike in the Smoky Mountains National Park. So in the end, I’d mostly just lain in bed for four days and watched TV, with a splurge on The Pancake House for breakfast a couple of mornings, and rode the Smoky Mountain Wheel, getting a view of the mountains in one of the all-glass gondolas. My mother hadn’t mentioned the gondola trip, but I’d felt the need to do something. When I finally felt ready to move on, having spent several hundred dollars I couldn’t afford on a pity party that had somehow made me feel worse, the clerk had suggested I take the back roads to enjoy the last of the fall foliage.

  Which had brought me here.

  The sun would be setting in a few hours and I had some decisions to make. Did I continue to wait for someone to stop? Or did I start walking? I had no idea how far I’d have to hoof it, not to mention it would be suicidal to walk on the winding, narrow two-lane road at night.

  I wished I’d taken that paper map the desk clerk had offered.

  Leaving the car, I perched on a boulder at the edge of the lookout, tucking my knees under my chin and staring out into the scenery. Cold seeped into my butt through my jeans, but the view truly was beautiful. The bright shades of yellow, orange, and red that the mountain trees were known for had begun to fade and fall, but it was still breathtaking, making me feel a little less sorry I’d stopped to take it in.

  Lost in thought, I didn’t hear a vehicle approach, so I startled when a man said, “Having car trouble?”

  Heart racing, I turned to face him. How could I have been so careless?

  I jumped to my feet, taking a defensive stance, which was utterly ridiculous. I was on a ledge. All he had to do was give me a hard shove, and I’d tumble right over. He definitely looked strong enough to do it.

  I scrambled over the rock onto the sidewalk, sizing him up as I prepared to face him.

  I guessed he was in his early to mid-thirties, and he looked like he was used to manual labor. The beat-up red tow truck behind him helped confirm my presumption. He was handsome in a rugged sort of way, with overgrown brown hair and eyes to match, and had on a brown work jacket, dark T-shirt, dirty jeans, and work boots. Something about the way he carried himself—full of confidence and self-assurance—ma
de me apprehensive. Yet it also stirred something inside me, a feeling I hadn’t experienced in a long, long time.

  Not now, Carly.

  It took me a second to realize I still hadn’t answered him. “Yeah.”

  “Do you know what’s wrong with it?” he asked, glancing down at the still-exposed engine.

  “It won’t start,” I said, walking toward the car and trying to avoid eye contact. Hoping my previously dormant feelings would go back into hiding. “It makes a grinding noise when I turn the key.”

  “You got someone comin’ for you?”

  My breath caught. I didn’t know anything about this man. For all I knew, he was seeking confirmation that there wouldn’t be any witnesses to my abduction. Or perhaps he was a garden-variety psychopath, someone who preyed on women out on their own. Why had I left my gun in the car?

  Careless. I wouldn’t be making that mistake again. I needed to be even more guarded since I was apparently attracted to him. Just because a guy was good-looking didn’t mean he was trustworthy. Indeed, the opposite was often true.

  Sensing my apprehension, he held up his hands in surrender. “I only want to know if you need my help. If not, I’ll be on my way.” When I still didn’t answer him, he said, “Would you like me to turn it over and see what I think? Maybe it’s an easy fix.” He gestured to his truck. “I know what I’m doing, and I won’t charge you just to look.”

  “Yeah…okay.” My heartbeat picked up again. My purse was on the passenger seat, and my gun was inside. What if he found my gun and used it against me?

  He followed my gaze to the front seat, then took a step back. “All I want to do is check the engine, but if you’d prefer for me to call someone, I understand.”

  I’d been out here over an hour, and now that I’d gotten up from the rock, I realized how stiff and cold I’d gotten. He was the first person to stop, not to mention he was driving a tow truck, for heaven’s sake. He was literally what I needed—a direct answer to the prayer I hadn’t said.

  “No,” I finally said, running a hand through my hair. It had been short for a couple of weeks now, cut into an angled bob that wouldn’t yield to a ponytail, and I still couldn’t get used to the length. Or the auburn color. When I looked in the mirror, I sometimes had trouble recognizing myself.

  I tried to cover my unease with a tight smile as I lowered my hand to my side. “Sorry. I’m just a little jumpy.”

  He held up his hands again. “Understandable.” Taking several more steps backward, he nodded toward my car. “How about you get your purse out before I get in? All I need is the key.”

  Obviously I wasn’t doing a great job of guarding my expression, but I didn’t think he was playing me. Besides, once I had my purse and my gun, I’d feel a hell of a lot better about the whole situation. “I don’t mean to insult you…”

  “I’m not insulted,” he said, taking two more steps backward. “You’re smart to be wary. You get what you need, and then I’ll check it out.”

  Keeping an eye on him as I opened the passenger door, I grabbed my purse and slung both straps over my right shoulder, clutching it to my side. “The key’s still in the ignition.”

  He’d been watching me with guarded curiosity, but now his mouth tipped into a hint of a grin. “You left the keys in the ignition?”

  I was acting so cautious—as though I feared he’d rob me blind—that I could see why he was amused. “It won’t start, so it’s not like someone could steal it.” I shrugged. “Unless you have a magic touch.”

  His grin spread.

  Blood rushed to my cheeks, stinging my windblown skin. “With cars.”

  Amusement filled his eyes. “I’ve been told that too.”

  Just when I thought my face might actually combust, he got into the car. The grinding sound followed a few seconds later. He climbed out and walked around to the engine for a few moments, then said, “When was the last time you had the oil changed?”

  “I haven’t,” I admitted. “I just got this thing a couple of weeks ago.”

  His brow shot up. “You didn’t ask for the maintenance record?”

  My friends in Arkansas had given me the car, just like they’d arranged for the documents in my purse. I hadn’t been in a position to haggle or ask for details. “No.”

  He scowled as though I’d committed a cardinal sin against car ownership, which I supposed I had. “I think the engine’s seized.”

  My heart sank. “I take it that’s not something you can fix?”

  “I can…but not here,” he said, but he didn’t sound sure. He closed the hood. “I’d need to tow it to my garage.”

  Studying him, I worried my bottom lip between my teeth. “How much is that going to cost?”

  “This far up the mountain?” He rubbed the back of his neck. “The tow will run you seventy-five. Then I can dig into it tomorrow and give you an estimate on the repair.”

  The towing charge wasn’t as bad as I’d thought, but the rest of his statement gave me pause. “Tomorrow?”

  “It’s gonna take some time to tear it apart, and after I figure out what’s wrong, I’ll need to get parts. I suspect we’re lookin’ at a couple of days.”

  A couple of days? Which meant at least two more nights in a motel, plus meals, not to mention the cost of the repairs. “What do you think it’s going to cost?”

  “I won’t know until I get in and look around.”

  This felt an awful lot like déjà vu. This is exactly what had happened to me in Arkansas, where I’d spent the last few months. In some ways, it felt like fate had brought me there, to the very people who could help me with my…unique situation. Rose Gardner and Neely Kate Rivers had found me by the side of the road. They’d offered me shelter and kindness, and eventually I had spilled my secrets to them. When it had come time for me to leave, they had known exactly how to help me. How to hide me. Except I’d made a mistake and landed myself back in the same situation. Borrowed car, seized engine. Dependent on the kindness of strangers. But this time the breakdown felt a lot more like carelessness than fate.

  Why hadn’t I thought to check the oil? It would likely cost more money to repair the car than I had in my shiny new bank account. My stomach twisted into a knot.

  “I understand if you don’t trust me to work on your car, what with you being a captive audience and all,” he said. “If you prefer, I can tow it into Greeneville, but I can’t do it until tomorrow.”

  “How much?” I blurted out.

  He hesitated. “It’s a haul down there,” he said with a frown. “An hour from my shop. I’d have to make it worth my time, which would include the trip back.”

  “I understand,” I said, then repeated, “How much?”

  “Three hundred.”

  Shit. But he didn’t seem like he was trying to screw me over, and I didn’t see the point in having the car towed to a bigger city, where everything was likely to be more expensive.

  “Or I could tow it to Ewing.” He paused and rubbed his chin. “That would only be about an hour and a half round trip for me, so let’s make it two hundred.”

  That wasn’t much better.

  “Maybe you’d rather call someone to come get you,” he said. “You can use my radio since your phone probably doesn’t work up here.”

  He could have been asking to make sure I was really alone, but I didn’t think so. Although I certainly wouldn’t call myself the best judge of people—I’d gotten myself into this situation by trusting the wrong people—I admired his sense of integrity. It made me want to trust him. Or maybe it was my desperation influencing me. “No. There’s no one close enough to call.”

  He nodded. “I saw the Georgia plates, so I didn’t think so, but didn’t want to presume.” He turned to look out at the view, soaking it in for a moment, and shifted his weight. “There’s another option.” He turned back to face me. “I can call a deputy sheriff to pick you up and take you to Ewing. Then you can figure out what to do about your car later.” He g
ave me a lopsided grin. “That’s your cheapest option at the moment. You’ll still have to tow the car, but it will give you time to figure everything out.”

  My heart skipped a beat.

  “No. No sheriff,” I said a little too quickly. A deputy might ask for ID, and while I’d been assured my new identity was solid, I wasn’t ready to test it quite yet.

  Some of the warmth faded from his eyes, but he nodded. “Okay. That option’s off the table. Do you need a minute to consider the others?”

  “No,” I said, feeling nauseated at the amount of money I was about to hemorrhage, but it wasn’t like I had a choice. “Just tow it to your garage.”

  “I’ll do my best to keep the cost of the repairs as low as possible.”

  Call me stupid, but I believed him.

  Chapter Two

  He gestured toward the car. “It’s going to take me a few minutes to get it loaded. If you have anything you need to get out, you’d best do it now.”

  “Uh, yeah,” I said, my nervousness returning. “I have a suitcase in the trunk.”

  He grabbed the keys out of the ignition, then walked around and opened the trunk, barely exerting himself to heave out my suitcase.

  I’d lifted that bag. I knew how heavy it was, which meant his jacket was covering up some impressive biceps.

  I shivered, partially from cold but also from the realization that this man could easily overpower me. I held my purse tighter. I had a gun, but could I bring myself to use it? It was one thing to shoot cans off fence posts, and a whole other thing to shoot a man. If I needed to pull it out, I hoped the threat would be enough to get my point across.